Heritage
by MaskedScissorDoll
Summary: Vincent Maloy, (named after the Tim Burton Short) the inventor who created Edward, left more than just the mansion behind. New community forums, E-mail me for details!
1. Prelude: The letter

A/N: I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I gave my copy to a friend, so I don't own that either. You don't want this fic, but if you feel you must have it, ask and you shall receive. Comments? Questions? Death threats? I get plenty of each, but there's always room for more. Make your contribution in the little box. Visit my web page. Okay. Enough choppy sentences.  
  
From the mind that brought you "Insomnia" and "Adore"  
  
Heritage  
  
A Cut-on-the-Dotted-Lines production  
  
S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S  
  
From the last will and testament of Dr. Vincent Edgar Maloy, September 21, 1950  
  
I, Vincent Edgar Maloy, being of sound mind and body, and having no natural born children, leave all of my property and resources to my adopted son, Edward Maloy. As he is incapable of seeing to his own affairs, I wish for my portfolio and all following business transactions to be overseen by the firm of Burnell and Associates.  
  
All of the facilities on my property are to be kept running, and all barriers kept locked, for the safety and comfort of my aforementioned ward. Also, in the best interest of my ward, I would like for the enclosed letter to be read to him upon the date of October 5, 2003.  
  
Signed,  
  
Dr. Vincent Edgar Maloy  
  
Enclosure  
  
Dear Edward,  
  
I am sorry to have left you alone, child. I desperately hope that I have finished you before I died. I recently realized that, despite my own efforts to stay with you, I will not be there forever, therefore I have begun to get my final affairs in order. I arranged for this letter to be taken to you at a delayed date, so that you can be given some time to adjust to independent life.  
  
You must know by now, that you have inherited the family fortune, just as I myself did before you. I spent very little of it, as I have never really valued material things. Most of what I spent went into my education, and various charities I had a strong opinion about. The mansion, the gardens, the inventions, all of my patents, lands, and my investment portfolio are at your disposal. Use them wisely.  
  
I want you to know, that as far as I'm concerned, you are my son. Many years ago, I had a wife. Her name was Rebecca, and I loved her greatly. Rebecca died of tuberculosis, and I was stricken with grief. I kept her body, in the hopes of someday being able somehow revive her. I have yet to discover a cure for death, and I doubt now that there will ever be one. I had no children, no friends, and no interest in finding another wife, but I did have money. I began making donations to park services, wildlife reserves, and other charities, but this did not bring my the happiness of companionship. That is why I created you.  
  
You may wish to know where you came from. It is difficult for me to explain how the idea came to me. I had been visiting Rebecca's containment chamber, when I was drawn over to the cookie machine. I watched it for but a moment, and suddenly knew the solution to all of my problems. I needed a friend, and I was a scientist. There wasn't any other answer. I had to make one.  
  
I began by using stem cells from Rebecca to grow your organs individually, while I built your frame using surgical steel. The slicing machine, being already of the appropriate shape, was quite convenient as a frame for your torso. You went from being a fleeting vision to near completion in a matter of about two years.  
  
I want you to know that you are everything a father could ask for in a son, and the very image of your mother. I am certain that once you are completed, you will also be a talented musician, just as she was. She played the violin with such creativity and talent. In the old days, we had guests to the manor every Saturday, and she would just play for them for hours. I missed her greatly, but you have single-handedly (-lessly, until I get these mechanical joints to work properly) kept me from misery. For that I can never thank you enough.  
  
May you enjoy that which I have given you, and my your life be long and fruitful.  
  
Your Father,  
  
Dr. Vincent Edgar Maloy 


	2. Family Values

Heritage  
  
Chapter I  
  
Kimberly Elaine Fairway bit her lower lip, as she watched the clock in her office. She had held her current position as secretary for Mr. Becker for six weeks, and she desperately wanted to keep it, but she was very anxious to leave. Vincent was in trouble again.  
She had gotten a call from the school principal concerning Vincent's severely tarnished school record. Apparently, he had gotten into another fight at school. She knew Vincent was not the type to go looking for trouble, but he couldn't help but find himself in a consistent stream of mercy fights with one bully or another. He had a big heart, and he was always defending those whose voices had been silenced on the school social scene, always winning back some poor girl's stolen lunch money.  
He was a tough kid, and he had to be. He was the family black-sheep, the wild child, always in trouble. That didn't stop him from being a favorite though, despite his disciplinary problems. He never let himself hurt anyone too badly, and he never let his fights affect his grades. Recently though, his problem was getting worse. Kim wanted to talk to him, to help him understand that he couldn't keep fighting like this, that it wasn't good for him. She wanted to keep him from getting hurt.  
The clock held steady for what seemed like hours, but was only about twenty minutes, before time came for Kim to leave for the day. She said a word of parting to Mr. Becker, and exited the office as fast as she dared, to try and beat Denny home.  
  
V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V  
  
When she walked into their apartment, the lights were off, and Vincent was curled up in a ball, asleep on the couch. She looked him over to see if he was hurt, but there were no new scars. He'd gotten faster and stronger since the last time he had beaten this guy, and there was no real evidence he had been in a fight. He was just as handsome as he always was, same black hair, same pale skin, same tall, lanky build, and it wouldn't be easy for anyone to tell that he was the strongest boy in the school.  
His coal eyes opened slowly, and he looked up at Kim. "Hello, Mother. How was work?" His polite conversation almost threw her off, and this was exactly what it was intended to do. If there was one thing he didn't get from his father, it was his innocence. She almost smiled at the thought of him getting it from her.  
"Hello, Vincent. I heard you had some trouble at school today. You know how I feel about you getting into fights." she trailed off. "I know you aren't just picking on people, but honestly, Vincent, what's going to happen to you?"  
He did not address this question directly, but instead said with out emotion, "That creep Evan Morgan stuffed Jenny in a locker again. He deserved what I did to him."  
She sighed. It was hard for her to explain the system to him, to try to strip him of his convictions that were so justified. "I'm sure he did, Vincent, but this has got to stop," she shook her head. "The principal called you the school vigilante."  
He sat up, and looked her in the eye with honesty. "So what? Maybe it's not my business, but if I didn't make it my business, who would? You remember that night, when I was little, and Kat was bringing me home from the park?" He never changed his tone in the slightest, he merely stared at her, looking for her to understand. "I'd be dead if that stranger hadn't saved me. You remember the story, he just appeared out of nowhere and took care of that monster. I want to be like that. I won't ever let anyone get hurt like I did." he trailed off, but the pain of what could have happened to the eleven year old was still there.  
It was then that Denny came in. Kim turned on the television and walked into the kitchen to start supper. Denny was never allowed to know about family matters. 


	3. In the Kitchen

A/N: Wow, time for the first real author's note in this fic. Okay, there has been some confusion in getting the two Vincent's straight. There's Vincent Maloy, the Inventor, and there's Vincent Fairview, the son of Kim Boggs. Hope that clears things up for you a bit. Review! I command thee! OR you shall feel the wrath of lack of chapters, *AND* garlic bread! Enjoy!  
  
Chapter II  
  
Denny lumbered in the door, completely oblivious to anything that might be amiss. He hung is coat on the coat-rack and, ignoring Vincent entirely, walked into the kitchen, where Kim was trying to cook something worth eating as fast as possible. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a drink. "Hey, Kim. How was work?"  
  
She turned to him in her place by the stove, and replied, "Fine, Mr. Becker had me do overtime today." She turned back to the stove, and watched the water boil. "How are things at the restaurant?"  
  
He took a long sip of his soda (He had stopped drinking after he had almost run over Kevin with the van) and answered, "Decent. Louie thinks that if things keep going as they are, We'll be the most popular pizza joint downtown."  
  
Kim felt sorry for Denny. He had given up everything he had to support her when she was in need. His career (he had wanted to be a paleontologist), his money, even his chance at a happy marriage. All for his high school crush who would never be capable of giving him the sort of love that everyone deserved. They weren't right for each other and they never would be. But that didn't stop him from trying to make things work.  
  
"How's the boy? Anymore trouble at school?" Direct hit by Denny. He knew Vincent wasn't a pacifist, but Kim certainly didn't let him know the extent of his violent activities.  
  
"Not since you talked to him last." She lied casually. He had, in fact, been in no less than four fights since Denny had tried to convince him not to. She knew better than to give Denny any more reason not to like Vincent. As it was, the two of them got along fine. Mostly because they never spoke to each other. "Mom's having a neighborhood cookout tomorrow. At about five. Do you think you can make it?"  
  
"Sure! I've been thinking about the old neighborhood a lot lately. I kind of miss it there." When Denny and Kim had gotten married, they moved downtown, to a place called Xavier's Circle. It was a nice enough area, but it lacked the social chaos of the suburbs. Which is why Kim had insisted they move there. No one there would suspect her child of being the son of a monster. The thought of them standing there, so smugly, telling her boy what they suspected was the story of his birth. It made her feel sick. Vincent may live a dangerous lifestyle in the city, but it was nowhere near the level it could escalate to were the people around him to know the truth.  
  
"Well, I guess we'll just meet you there then." Kim broke pieces of hard spaghetti in two and put them into the boiling pot. "I'm going to be helping Mom with the food, and I'm sure Vincent and Simon can find *something* to do."  
  
Vincent already knew about the party. Simon had told him early that morning before the fight. Simon was Vincent's uncle, although he was older than Simon. He had been born a year after Vincent had, and they were best friends. "We'll just mess around like we always do. Kevin'll probably have the game on. Is Ben going to be there?"  
  
"What do you think?" Asked Kim. He didn't really need to ask. Ben was always there. The Boggs' house was Ben's last sanctuary from his mother, Joyce. Last Vincent had heard, she was under the table again, and Ben had run away to stay with Simon. Joyce's promiscuous nature had made Ben the town joke, and if he wasn't running from her at home, he was running from her at school. Vincent had a lot of sympathy for his friend, and he did what he could, but Ben didn't want his help. He wanted to fight his own demons, and was doing it with vengeance. He was a shoe-in for valedictorian.  
  
"Your grandmother's complaining about that bird of his again. Always making noise or whatever." But Vincent wasn't listening anymore. He was off in his own little world again, starring out the window and onto the street below. 


	4. Benjamin's Fiddle

A/N: I do not own Edward Scissorhands.  
  
It was raining. The constant falling water blurred the avenue into gray. Men and women were trickling down the street with large black umbrellas, shadows in the already dim, soupy, congested street. It was the combination of the crowds, the poor lighting, and sheer lack of interest, that kept Vincent from seeing the stranger walk by.  
  
E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E  
  
Edward had just left the office of Burnell and Associates, and was headed home. He had been in the law office since early that morning, when a strange woman in a long black coat had come to the mansion to collect him. It had been six hours since then, it was now about two o'clock, and his head was swimming with a new kind of wonder at the information he had received.  
  
Standing outside waiting for his cab didn't sound like a good idea for a man with metal hands, so he sought shelter in an old bookstore at the corner of 5th and Xavier. The air in the shop was thick with dust, and the smell of the forgotten volumes was warm and familiar, very much like his father's library had been, before the books were ruined.  
  
He had never truly realized the importance of money, before he stepped out into the world for the first time, with Mrs. Boggs to lead the way. Money was valuable, that much Edward knew. Money was valuable, and he had a lot of it. So, what exactly does one do with a lot of money? How many books could he buy? He wasn't sure, but he knew he could buy a lot of them. And probably hire a personal page turner, too. Or a professional storyteller. 'Now that would be nice.' He thought. Obviously, it is exceedingly hard to read a book, or anything else for that matter, when you have to worry about slicing it apart.  
  
As he walked past the shelves, each full of worn and ancient volumes, he read a few of the titles, titles of books like "Spellbound" "Companions of the Night" "Blood and Chocolate" and "The Silver Kiss," and in another section, "Fantome de l'Opera" "The Count of Monte Cristo" and "The Hunchback of Notre Dame." There seemed to be a theme of death, violence, unrequited love, and ultimate sacrifice. This book store was a lot like his life. With of course, the exception that an entire section of books were originally written in French.  
  
He passed a bizarre reference section, with shelves packed with books that kept in time with the general despair of the place. "Astronomy, Astrology, and the Four Horses of the Apocalypse" and "Biblical Analysis: Predicting our Doom." There were also books that didn't seem as though they belonged in the reference section at all, with titles like "Vampirism and You" "Werewolves among us" and "Zombies Ate My Neighbors."  
  
Edward didn't notice a young man squatting close to the ground, looking through the occult section. Not until he tripped over him, that is. Lying on his side, Edward rose slowly and began to apologize to the teenager. The boy looked as though he had seen a ghost. His shocked expression caused a memory to stir in Edward's mind, but he could quite place why. He looked the boy over. Red hair, green eyes, light tan, medium height, thin. He didn't know him. The youth rose quickly, and did not say a word as he backed away, and finally exited the store.  
  
Edward accredited his hasty departure to his hands. Most people were afraid of him at first, after all. But he didn't know this boy. He didn't know his family. And he certainly didn't know about the photographs on his mother's bookshelf.  
  
S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S S  
  
Simon ran all the way to the bus station, a million unanswered questions in his head. Was this the mystery man who's lone portrait had sat upon the shelf, different from the others somehow, isolated. How could it not be? How many people went around with scissors for hands? When he got to his little suburbanite home, he intended to ask his mother about the man in the picture.  
  
Unfortunately, when he got there the Boggs family home was much too busy for such questions. His mother, Peg Boggs, was preparing a relish platter for the party that they had planned. He didn't want to ask his father or Kevin, who seemed rather wrapped up in their own discussions. The only one left to ask was Ben, and he wouldn't be able to tell him anything about it anyway. Still, Simon felt like he needed someone to talk to, so he went on into his room to find him.  
  
Ben had been living with them for two weeks, ever since his mother had brought home that refrigerator repairman. She seemed to have gone from bad to worse in a matter of about six months, after her husband left her. Benjamin had neither pity nor respect for either of them, and believing that there was no hope of either of his parents changing his mind, had asked if he could stay there until he turned eighteen. Mrs. Boggs was never the type of woman who could turn the hungry out, so she let him move in.  
  
In what was once just Simon's room now lived the two boys, their things moshed together and indistinguishable. In one corner of the room, by the window, stood the cage of Benjamin's cockatoo, Fiddle. Fiddle himself rested on Benjamin's shoulder. Benjamin sat on the top bunk, doing his homework. Hearing Simon come in, he smiled and looked up. "Hey, man, how was the bookstore?"  
  
"Not too bad of a selection, though I didn't manage to make a purchase. Ran into a peculiar man. Scissors for hands." responded Simon, ready to tell Ben all about his day.  
  
"No kidding?" Ben asked, seeming surprised. "How do you think that's possible?"  
  
"I don't know, I've never seen anything like it before." Said Simon, suddenly feeling tired. "I'm going to hit the hay, we've got a cookout tomorrow you know."  
  
"You do that," said Benjamin, "but first you've got to hear what I've taught fiddle. Fiddle," He began to whistle something pretty. Picking up the song, fiddle continued it to it's fruition. "Is that not incredible? It only took him a week to learn it!"  
  
Simon just smiled. He knew how much Ben loved Fiddle. Fiddle was the only thing that really made Ben seem truly happy. Ben grinned proudly. "Someday, I'm going to take him to a bird show, and he's going to win the blue ribbon, you'll just see. You'll see." Ben drifted off, back into his daily routine of trying to prove his worth to the world. Absently, he went back to his homework.  
  
Simon got ready for bed, and as he was laying down, he wondered to himself what the future would hold for Ben-And for himself. 


End file.
